


Warm Hearts in the Early Mornings

by orphan_account



Series: zombieluke!verse [1]
Category: 5 Seconds of Summer (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Zombies, M/M, Minor Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-22
Updated: 2015-07-22
Packaged: 2018-04-10 17:58:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 486
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4401716
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's not easy bein' dead.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Warm Hearts in the Early Mornings

**Author's Note:**

> I had to finish writing this on my phone. My love for zombies apparently shows through my writing. Unbeta'd, but I'd like to thank my friend Seb for putting up with my endless talk about zombie teenagers with crushes. This will probably turn into a series of drabbles. Thank you for reading!

It's argued among the living that they're Infected, not Dead. Luke may not remember much, but he's almost positive that Strep throat didn't make his skin rot. Anyone who says otherwise can talk to the chunk of flesh ripped out of his side, the one that occasionally secretes blackish-greenish goo.

He really doesn't care much for political correctness, though. Luke wouldn't be so forgiving of those who ate arteries bi-weekly, infection or not, if he were still alive. Politeness doesn't change the fact that he likes warm hearts in the early mornings. It's one of the reasons why he's strolling down the sidewalk in what the thinks is still Sydney, but it might not be.

"Errrrggggh," he groans. 

He doesn't get a groan back. This time he grunts in annoyance. Hunting alone is harder than hunting in a pack. 

Everything's been pretty dead since the whole thing started, trees void of leaves and bloodstains on the concrete, occasionally a trail of various organs and strips of muscle left for those who are desperate enough to scavenge. The hustle and bustle of the city is gone. It makes it easier to seek out humans.

Luke looks back in time to see something round the corner, faster than someone, something like himself. He pauses before he starts walking again, turning behind the line of abandoned buildings. Jogging is possible, but it's more of a sped-up hobble than anything, arms swinging in stereotypical zombie fashion. He likes to pretend he has more dignity than some of the fuckers he has to share the airport with.

He stops when something crunches, standing there. Someone mutters "shit" from behind the wall, and there's the the click of a machine gun. This is when Luke starts zombie-hobbling, when his infection and instinct defines him rather than using the few brain cells he has left. 

The same person who spoke, mumbled, whatever is who he grabs. He's got tan skin and dark eyes and the remains of something platinum blonde within his hair, dark and curling at the edges.

The other one yells something, overdramatic in Luke's opinion, probably a name or something. There's a bullet that goes into the ground, just missing Luke's foot. He bites into the kid's forearm, feeling veins pop and bones crunch beneath his decayed teeth and blackened gums.

There's another gunshot and the bullet goes straight through his thigh, strings of brown flesh and black liquid flying out the other side with the bullet. Luke looks up, blood smeared over his lips and flesh between his teeth.

The handler of the gun isn't much older than himself (he thinks), but very much alive and upset. He has tears in his eyes and his bottom lip between his teeth before he cocks the gun again.

There's a fire in Luke's chest.

"Ergh," he groans, lips curving up at the corners.

His heart may have just skipped a beat.


End file.
